Fortress
by Ariylla
Summary: Finnick Odair has had an interesting life in the past decade; from getting Reaped, to winning the 65th Annual Hunger Games, becoming a slave of the Capitol as well as mentoring the love of his life before he joins a rebellion to save their future together. Chronicles of his life with possible alt. ending to Mockingjay. Rated M for violence, language, and sex in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

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In District Four, the Games are presented as an honor; something that you're foolish to turn down if you are 'lucky' enough to have your name called. Though tessarae is rarely needed for anyone in our district, most will get it in order to increase their chance of getting called. Unlike in poorer districts, tessarae is an option instead of a necessity. Parents are vying for the day when each child turns twelve and is able to request it. However, unlike Districts One and Two, most are respectful of those who are called during the Reaping and refrain from volunteering. If you don't want to enter the Games, you keep that a damn secret. Or at least that's the conclusion that I've come to, seeing as out of all my friends and family, I seem to be the least eager about the Games. No matter how the Capitol presents it; as repentance of the Dark Days or redemption for your district, it's just an act of senseless murder of children. I don't care for watching it or even betting on those likely to win, though I go through the motions of caring for the sake of fitting in. At fourteen, I've already figured out how these damn Games are revered by practically everyone in my district, including my parents, my brother Nim, and my sisters Dani and Sira.

My parents have never verbally encouraged us to collect tessarae, but during his six years of being eligible for the games, Nim did. At nineteen, he's been out of the Reaping pool for the last year and I can't quite express how thankful I am that his name never did end up getting called. I guess the odds ended up being in his favor, which I can only hope stays true for myself, Dani, and Sira, both of which have a few years before entering the pool, being eight and ten consecutively. It seems that on the eve of each Reaping, these thoughts plague my mind and take over completely as I struggle to fall asleep to the normally calming sounds of waves crashing on the shore outside our home. My mother has already laid out my clothes for tomorrow, and my Reaping clothes consist of a respectable navy button-up shirt with sleeves partially rolled up, sand-colored shorts, and worn but durable brown leather sandals. Something that wouldn't get in the way during a fishing trip per se, but wouldn't be my first choice to wear, seeing as fish guts do tend to stain. I try to clear all thoughts of the Reaping from my mind as I feel myself slowing sinking into subconsciousness.

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"Nim, are you sure this is a good idea? You know how grouchy Finn can be, and on the morning of the Reaping especially..." Sira's voice trails off in the mid-early morning. My thoughts from last night of today have made me particularly sensitive to any and all sound during the night and morning. That, and Nim's an idiot.

"Shh, Sira! Yes, Finn's going to find this tremendously funny, I promise, now go in there with Dani and do what I told you to do." Nim also lacks any sense of subtlety. In some ways, I silently muse, it was probably a good thing he never ended up getting Reaped. Seeing as he's tremendously oblivious to his surroundings, he probably wouldn't be too successful in working with other Careers and managing to stay alive. He would've been lucky to survive the Cornucopia with the current amount of 'genius' he's exhibiting.

I hear two pairs of feet quietly treading into my room, and mistakenly treading on the creaky floorboards of our coastal home. I keep my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, as they assume I am and slow my breathing to make it seem even more apparent that I'm unconscious. I feel two piles of weight sink in my mattress on both sides of me, and I wait for exactly three seconds to catch them off guard. One...two...three...

"Boo!" I shout as my eyes pop open, and I lunge forward, scooping up my two sisters in my arms and start a vicious tickling attack. Their laughter comes out in screeches as they plead for me to stop.

"F-f-finn-ha-nn-ick, s-st-ah-hah-opppp!" Dani can barely get the words out of her mouth as she's practically crying from her laughter. Her face is lighting up, diffusing some of the tension that she's always felt during each Reaping for Nim and I. Sira is beyond words, and is trying to squirm away from me, but I've locked her in my grip, and she's helpless. I flash a smile and shake my head at Nim, who's observing all of this from my doorway, head cocked in amusement. Since he first was taking part in the Reaping, he and I would do something to lighten the heavy mood for our sakes, as well as Dani and Sira's.

"Oh no," I say, looking at my sisters' faces that are contorted in uncontrollable smiles. "You know what the only way to get out of tickling is, right?"

"Nn-nnahah-noooooo!" Sira shrieks as she attempts to get out of my arms, and I feel a wicked grin take over my face. "T-t-tellllll me-heehe-eee!"

"Well," I begin, not pausing my tickling for a moment, "on the count of two, you have to go after the closest target over fourteen. Does that sound fair?" They nod frantically, laughter still trickling out of their mouths. "Alright...one...two...go!" I release them and they take no recovery time, and just launch themselves at Nim, who catches them eagerly as he chuckles.

"Okay, okay," he assures them as they try scrambling up Nim's limbs to attempt whatever torture he'd planned for them to unleash on me, "Why don't we go downstairs and grab some breakfast while Finn gets dressed, hmm?" Dani and Sira squeal and practically fall over one another as they go down the stairs. Nim shoots me a reassuring smile and leaves me to get dressed in my outfit for the day.

I gingerly step into the clothes, and make my way over to the old mirror that hangs right next to my window, which has a frame made of frayed rope and sea glass. Although it's made of two of the most common materials found in District Four, Nim made it for me when he turned twelve and I threw a fit, worrying that he might be picked in the Reaping. It was his way of reassuring me that even if he went away, I would still have a piece of him at home until he returned. A sentiment that is probably past due at this point, but regardless, it's still one of my favorite possessions. I attempt to arrange my copper-hued hair in some semblance of order, which has been a daily battle since the age of four. My mother has always teased me about it, but my father is a bit more stern on the matter, saying that I need to look the part, whatever that means. After spending close to ten minutes trying to coerce it into some sort of obedience before giving up and letting my wavy locks do as they wish. I stare into the mirror, noticing the slight bags under my eyes, that are a shade quite similar to the deep ocean blue of District Four with slight glimmers of green that match the sea glass in the frame of the mirror. A grimace crosses my face as I notice it. If my father notices them, I'll be criticized for not getting enough rest on the night before one of the most (possibly) important days of my life. I sigh, and make my way down the spiral stairs that take me down to our kitchen and dining room balcony where I can hear the cheerful chatters of my family.

Taking in the sight before me, I watch as Dani and Sira fight over the very last seaweed roll left in the basket of bread my mom has made. Even though she chides them softly, I see her pull out a pan of fresh ones from the oven. With her first children being boys that have had their fair share of sudden growth spurts (Nim stands at 6'4", while I've already made it to 6' at the age of fourteen), she's used to making plenty of food for all six of us. Leftovers are a rarity in this house. Nim is missing, presumably down on the beach, meeting up with his girl of the week, while Dad is engrossed in his paper. The normal scene quells a bit of the tension remaining in the pit of my stomach from the night before. I force a smile on my face as I go over to Mom and kiss the top of her head. "Smells great, Mom," I compliment her as I take a plate and begin taking a bit of each of the food she's prepared; which consists of fresh seaweed bread, poached eggs with sea salt and cracked pepper on top, as well as some home-fried potatoes that smell slightly of garlic and onion. She shakes her head at me and shakes her wooden spoon in my direction in a mildly disapproving manner.

"Finn, you're lucky we let you sleep in as late as we did! If it was any day but the Reaping..." her voice trails off as she makes eye contact with me to let me know that my absence was noticed by my father. I grin cheekily and start speaking in a melodramatic tone, hoping to play up her particular affection for me on today of all days.

"But Ma, you know, this could be your last chance to see your darling, charming son before he's whisked off to the Capitol for the prestige and glamour of the Games!" She rolls her eyes at my tone before I continue. "Besides, if I left, you'd just be stuck with Nim."

"I'm telling!" taunts Sira. I stick my tongue out in response, fully capable of mature responses to tattle-taling at age fourteen. My father grunts from behind his paper before choosing to speak.

"You really should take this seriously, Finnick Nicholas," he says gruffly, "your entire future could rest on this. Your mother and I raised you to be respectful and conscientious, not to spend your time frivolously before important events."

"What the hell happened to Nim, then?" I mutter under my breath as my mother smacks me with the spoon on my shoulder. Then she winks and whispers a response, her golden hair falling into her sky-blue eyes.

"We didn't get to him in time." She clears her throat and speaks loudly, "Now go sit down with your sisters and do try to behave yourself, Finn. Don't spill anything on that, I refuse to clean any more clothes today." I smile and take my seat from across my sisters, who have inherited my mother's golden wavy hair that falls recklessly from their heads. They look closely identical, but Dani's eyes match my mother's, while Sira's are the inverse of mine. I personally think that the deep green with sparks of sea-blue are far more compelling than mine, which mimic my father's, as does my hair. Nim managed to somehow get my mother's hair and my father's eyes which make him the stereotypical 'pretty boy', which is how he manages to get as many girls as he does. But a family has little traces of each other in aspects more than just the physical, so even though I've gotten my father's looks, I've managed to keep my mother's humor and spirit. Despite our quirks, I wouldn't give them up for the world or change a single thing about them. I shake myself out of the ponderings of my family and turn my attention back to breakfast. I might as well eat up, seeing as it could be my last home-cooked meal.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

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I inhale my food without really tasting it, but my mother refrains from commenting on my actions. She's probably just relieved that I'm actually eating on the day of the Reaping, something I refused to do in the years that Nim was in the running. At this age, possible survival instincts win over childish stubbornness. If I did end up getting Reaped and had skipped the last possible meal that would be prepared by my mother, I would never forgive myself, nor would she. My thoughts drift to Dani and Sira, who finish their food and are reminded by Dad to do their obligatory reading for the day. In our district, parents can choose to tutor their children in basic language arts, math, and history while simultaneously teaching them the signature trade of the family or can send them to one of the district schools. As long as they pass the Capitol issued tests, then they can continue their education at home until the spring of their eighteenth year. Being a Career district does tend to have its advantages, since we can opt to home-school, unlike some less fortunate districts. The Capitol also figures that in the time we save from not spending time in class, we can prepare ourselves training for the Games to increase our value and skills. Our trade isn't a particularly rare one; we catch and sell fish which makes up thirty percent of District Four's income. Other trades include baking, rope creation and braiding, natural material gatherers (seaweed, sea glass, shells) who sell their finds, and agriculture. People create side businesses for a variety of purposes, though and aren't always limited to one type of trade. Most fishermen focus on one specific kind of fishing, whether they use nets, harpoons, tridents, or poles. In our family, we use all of them by catering to each member of our family's personal talents. It's one of the reasons we're one of the wealthier families in the district. We focus on our strengths and where one of us lacks, another succeeds. My personal favorites for fishing include net weaving for catching along with using a trident to spear particularly large fish. Nim is the best with fishing with a pole since his patience exceeds all of ours, while Dani and Sira make a particularly wicked harpooning pair. Mom's a pacifist and uses the nets solely and Dad's the captain of the ship.

Today normally would be a fishing day for us, but seeing as it's the Reaping, all business and marketplace action is suspended until after two, when the tributes' names have been announced. Families throw large feasts and celebrate the glory of those chosen to represent our district as the tributes are thrown into the prepping station before boarding the train that will take them to the legend that is the Capitol. Dani and Sira whine about not completing their readings for the day and plead their case to my mother, who is an instant pushover and relents to not have them do schoolwork for 'just this once'. My father rolls his eyes, but puts his newspaper down on the table before glancing at the clock to check the time. My eyes follow his and I catch the time. It's eleven twenty-seven. The Reaping begins at noon, but check-in is fifteen minutes before. Seeing as it takes us a little under twenty minutes to arrive to the center of town where the Reaping takes place. He catches my eye and I nod in understanding and deposit my plate in the sink. Dani and Sira follow my lead while my mother calls out to Nim to come inside. Once we've all collected together, we walk out the door and down the hill to have me go through check-in and for them to wait until the Reaping is over.

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Tryvius Whelk takes the podium that stands on the stage that is placed behind District Four's distinctive fountain. The fountain was an elaborate gift from the Capitol after the district had gotten its twenty-fifth Victor. With gold leaf and white marble creating a sculptured scene that borders on gaudy, the fountain has countless mermaids, dolphins, and seashells put in strategic places. It stands as a centerpiece in our Reaping and separates the male and female population for ages twelve to eighteen. The boys stand on the left side facing the stage with the youngest in front while the girls stand on the right side in the same formation. Tryvius has been our district escort for as long as I can remember, and always dresses in what he thinks of as 'typical District Four apparel' which consists of clothes that rotate through shades of blues, green, and hints of gold. Today, he appears to us in a sea-blue suit with pointed shoulders that have a half-dozen golden curlicues reaching off the ends. His shimmering golden boots mimic the shoulder points with curled toes. Though his hair is a jet-black (an unusually tame and somewhat normal shade for him), with a jauntily perched gold and blue captain's hat on the top of his head. His only make-up consists of a bronzed foundation and slight gold lipstick. He gazes out into the crowd and a cocky smirk takes over his face as he grabs the microphone to begin his announcements for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Reaping of District Four.

"Good afternoon, District Four! I hope you're all feeling particularly smashing today," he winks at a group of girls to the side who are his noted fan-club (though I can't imagine what they find particularly attractive about the man. I can't really imagine lipstick being a handsome feature to girls of this district). "I'm sure that we'll find some magnificently talented and heart-breakingly gorgeous tributes to represent our lovely district for the Sixty-Fifth year of our wondrous Hunger Games! As per usual, we must share the origins of this noble tradition and honor to participate with a new film for the younger members of the audience to be fully briefed on our history." He steps aside and a propaganda film begins showing on the screen, informing us of the conflict and rebellion that led to the Dark Days and the collapse of our previous society, in a place called 'North America'. How eventually, the conflict ceased thanks to the creation of Panem and the power of the Capitol that ensured peace and prosperity for all of its districts. All they asked in response was a yearly sacrifice of the youth, ages twelve to eighteen, two from each district that would participate in the Hunger Games, a battle to the death where one would reign, bringing prosperity, riches, and honor back to their district as a Victor. The film ends as the final notes of our anthem fade and Tryvius reclaims his place at the podium.

"Isn't that a wonderful piece of film? Brand-new from our videography department, and I'm sure it'll be here for a long time to come as a tremendous example of their skill and creativity. Anyways, onto the business of the day! And as always, the lovely ladies will be the first to be chosen." He walks over to the large glass bowl, stuffed to the brim with countless papers as the crowds murmur in hushed excitement. His hand reaches down and he swirls his hand around until his hand encloses a single folded slip, and he pulls it out, moving a single finger to his lips to quiet the crowd. He makes them wait in anticipation for a few moments, taking his time to unfold the paper, smoothing it slowly, and then clearly reads the name and age printed. "Kylie Demetria, age seventeen!" he proclaims, and a girl with a willowy frame confidently strides out of her designated area and makes her way up the stairs to the podium. Her hair is between shades of blonde and red, settling to exist in crimson waves with small streaks of gold weaving through. Her eyes are a calculating ice blue and she stands poised and strong as she takes her place next to Tryvius, who takes her hand warmly. "My, we certainly have a looker this year! I'm certain she'll steal the hearts of many a sponsor. Hopefully, her male companion will be an even match." She smiles, a cold, distant smirk settling on her face. This girl is convinced of the fact that she will be the Victor. I roll my eyes, knowing how pride can be the biggest downfall of even the most deadly tribute. After all, if you never second-guess yourself, then you're far more likely to ingest something poisonous, or treat yourself incorrectly when injured. Tryvius walks her to the side of the podium and then moves onto the male's Reaping bowl. This time, his hand is far more forceful, diving into the bowl and snatching the first slip of paper that grazes his fingertips. He unfolds this piece far more deftly, working on speed to make the audience become more excited by the second. His voice rings out as he announces the male tribute's name and age.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your male tribute of District Four, Finnick Odair, age fourteen!" my eyes widen and I hear disgruntled sighs and curses under the breath of the boys around me. I barely register the noise. All I know is that I have been chosen as tribute. And I can't let my family down. I make my way out of the crowd, and force myself to numbly walk up the steps to Tryvius' waiting hand. I take my place on his right side as Kylie stands on his left, and he takes both of our hands in his. He raises our arms high in the air and proudly shouts, "District Four, I present to you your tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in their favor, and may they bring honor and wealth to our beloved district!" The crowd nearly deafens us in response, screaming their approval for their newest sacrifices. I force a winning smile onto my face as my eyes frantically (though appearing calm and assured) search for the expressions of my family. My father's face beams with pride as he is thumped good-naturedly on the back by our family friends and neighbors. My mother has fixed a tight smile on her face as she converses with the mothers around and holds tightly to Dani and Sira, who look as though they'd just awoken from a terrible nightmare. And as my eyes settle on Nim, I see a range of emotions fixed on his face. Though his mouth is smiling, his eyes are distant and cold with disappointment and anger.


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

**Also, a large thanks to Witch Nike, who's been kind enough to comment and read each update. There may be a slight tribute to you in one of the names of the chapter.**  
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My eyes have barely enough time to adjust to the chaotically moving crowd before the space where Tryvius, Kylie and I are standing on descends into the ground. As soon as we disappear from sight, a metal door slides into place above us, and we're left in a place where people in black coats are running around with various vials and colorful containers of liquid. Kylie's eyes widen, taking in the sight before us. This is District Four's notorious Beautification Center, where our tributes are given intense treatments before they even arrive in the Capitol so they can maximize training and strategy time once they arrive. Tryvius glances at me as I cross my arms, seemingly unimpressed. Despite the nonchalant look I've crafted to appear on my face, I'm a bit disgusted by what I see. Besides a majority of the room being dressed and made up to the current fashions that are being advertised and adored in the Capitol, the amount of effort that's about to be put our superficial appearance is stunning. Even though we're a wealthier Career district, it's no secret that other districts struggle and scavenge for resources while we are able to waste money on this unnecessary creation. Tryvius effortlessly snaps his fingers, and two stylists arrive in front of us. One is a female, who stands several inches below my height, but whose lavender teased hair ends just below my chin. Her skin is tinted a light aquamarine color (presumably a nod to the district she's serving). Her eyes are ringed with a royal purple eyeliner and shadow that sweeps out into wings and smoky colors. This is a striking contrast to her eyes, which are a mesmerizing ring of gold that practically pop out of her face. Whatever outfit lies beneath her standard issue black lab coat is small enough to not have any remainder sticking out for my eyes to see. She looks like a creature from another world, possibly a nymph of some sort. Next to her is a man whose skin is a rich tan, much like my own. His hair is a sea of colors shifting from a deep jet black to waves of navy and cobalt blue. It's neatly trimmed just below his ears, one of which has seven alternating gold and silver rings hanging from it. His eyes look close to black, but have flecks of gold that spark out every few seconds. Tryvius smiles and clears his throat to introduce them to us.

"Kylie, may I present your stylist, Lyan." the man with earrings steps forward and takes her hand.

"If I may say, Miss Kylie, I do believe that we will be a formidable match. We will make you a fierce beauty that will not go unnoticed by the audiences both in the districts and the Capitol." A condescending smile settles upon her face as she moves toward him and lifts her head haughtily before responding.

"Delightful." The word slithers out from over her tongue and is spiked with bits of malice and confidence. She walks off towards a station with Lyan and disappears from my sight. I can't say that I'm too disappointed by this fact. With her exit, Tryvius returns his attention to the remaining stylist.

"And Finnick, this is your stylist, Miss Nika." Nika bounces forward, her hair moving in time with her. She places her hands on her hips and studies me intently.

"Well, we better get to work on you if we want to have you at a scar-free Beauty Base Zero before we get you to the Capitol." I frown slightly. I didn't know this was part of the deal. I'm not exactly attached to scars that exist on me from random fishing trips, but they are a part of who I am. If Nika is bothered by this reaction from me, she ignores it, and takes my hand and drags me off as Tryvius chuckles and meanders off into the distance.

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Halfway through the process of being made over for the Capitol, I am cursing the fact this center exists more than I originally had. I have spent four hours being soaked in foul-smelling liquids, having creams and salves spread over me to prevent hair from growing back in select places (like my chest and certain parts of my face). And when asking when I'd see my family, I was given the succinct answer of "Once we're done."

Nika is like a rapid succession of fireworks, constantly moving from one treatment or plan to the next while drafting the next steps. She took a series of measurements for my costumes and wardrobe and sent the paper containing them off to who knows where. I'm rethinking my original assumption of her being a nymph. With her energy level, she's definitely more like a pixie. As I undergo parts of my treatment, she asks specific questions; _What is my strongest skill for survival? (Providing food for myself) What weapon would be my weapon of choice? (Trident),_ and nods with each answer I give, tilting her head whenever she's mystified by a response. Though, I must give her credit, she never comments, and moves right onto whatever question has infiltrated her mind. I'm not sure how these answers are affecting her design plans or whatever reasons she has for asking, but I try to speak sincerely in order to give her the best possible picture of me. She is attentive, and does listen to my feedback on occasion. Especially when I refuse to let her team paint waves underneath my eyes in order to 'bring attention to them while simultaneously representing my district,' as they try to explain.

"Nika, can I have a word with you?" The attendants scrubbing my skin and nails pay no attention to my request, and her head perks up from the clipboard she holds, where she is writing and scribbling images and words down in a thoughtful way. She moves forward, eyes wide and observant.

"Yes, Finnick?" She blinks, her tone not dismissive in the least, and genuinely curious. I stare straight into her eyes, wanting to seem unmovable on the subject I'm about to discuss.

"No matter what we do for my dressing of the Games, I do not want to be portrayed as a joke. I don't want the newest fashions of the Capitol, and I refuse to look ridiculous. I don't want to be boring or stoic, but I don't want the glitter or eyeliner or lipstick. I have to make my family proud." A slight grin crosses her face.

"Why Finnick," she begins. "I'd never planned for that to begin with. Despite my modifications, I can assure you that I know what the audience wants. This," she gestures to her appearance, "is necessary to be taken seriously by the Capitol as a stylist. However, I know how to cater to them and how to give them what they want in a Tribute. You have nothing to worry about." She ends that statement with a wink, and a grin forms on my face in response. It seems that Nika is a bit more aware than I'd suspected, despite being more action-oriented than speech-inclined. She spends the rest of the day categorizing and editing her notes before declaring me 'finished.' and sending me off to the waiting room in a set of a pajamas consisting of a t-shirt and drawstring pants. I sit in the waiting room, preparing myself for my family's response to my getting chosen for the Games.

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By some miracle, they are all allowed into the room at once, for a combined time of the time they would have originally received individually. Dani and Sira catapult themselves towards me, clinging to my legs as I pat their hair down soothingly. They look up toward me with fearful eyes as I whisper promises I'm not sure I'll be able to keep.

"What are you two dolphins worrying about? You know I'll be fine and I'll manage to make my way back somehow. Don't worry, and bet your allowance on me. You'll get it back" I say, far more sure in my words than I actually feel. My father is beaming with pride, and just repeatedly tells me,

"You'll do us proud, Finnick. I just know you will." My mother clutches me tightly in a hug, and strokes my hair, and I can tell that it's taking all of her strength not to fall apart in front of all of us right there. I think I may have inherited my dislike of the Games from her, if this reaction is any indication. Though she's never outright condoned them; which would be an idiot move in our district, she has always cried at the losses of our and other districts. I have no words for her, but hug her back as strongly as I can as she slips a thin piece of rope into my hand that I recognize as being the piece I use to hang the mirror Nim made for me all those years ago. She realizes how important it is to me, as sentimental a thought as it is, and would have done whatever possible to let me keep a piece of it with me in the arena. This thought causes tears to bubble up in my eyes, which I quiet down and push away to be dealt with another time. This is hardly the place or moment to fall apart. I kiss her on the head and hug her tighter as a way of saying thanks. If I speak it out loud, my emotions will betray me, and I will not be able to control my grief.

Nim catches my eye and places his right hand over his heart and rubs it in a circular motion over his chest. I recognize this as our signal from childhood whenever we'd split off to play with our separate friends and would say goodbye. Even though we were quite close as brothers, admitting that we'd miss each other wasn't something we would do in front of our friends. So we devised this signal to relay the message of _I'll see you back at home. I love you. Be safe_. before we would head off for whatever adventures awaited us. I pull my hand across my chest in response, and see that his eyes; which were so filled with anger and disappointment earlier, are now filled with sorrow. We gather in a group and hold each other tightly before a guard knocks and takes them away. We exchange 'goodbye's and 'I love you's before the solid mahogany doors tightly shut. In a few minutes, the guard returns and escorts me to the sleek silver train that awaits in the station to bring me to the Capitol.


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

**Witch Nike- I'm glad you liked your characterization with Nika! And believe me, every review means the absolute world to me!**

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The walk to the train is filled with noise that overwhelms my ears and turns into a loud buzzing that makes picking out any singular sound impossible. Screams and cheers of my name along with Kylie's crash upon us as she struts, tossing out a calculated smile and wave as she does so, while I numbly stride towards the train, fierce determination apparent on my face. Masking my emotions has been a talent of mine ever since I was young, which is an art that will undoubtedly prove useful in this circus of unnecessary gluttony, vanity, and stupidity. Once we make it inside, the doors shut, sealing out all and any semblance of sound and the train smoothly glides forward. Kylie tosses a look at me, and sneers. Our stylists' taste has differed for our individual take we'll be adopting for the Games.

Kylie has gone with 'sultry' and has a skintight costume to complete it. Her hair has been darkened to a deeper crimson and has covered the slight twists of gold that once existed. Lyan has overdone (in my taste, anyways) her makeup with blackened streaks of eyeliner shooting out on the top of her eyes, with golden shimmers ringing the bottom. Her eyelids transform from black at the edge of her upper eyelid to gold just below her eyebrows. The only part left natural are her lips, though her eyelashes look far too large and dark to be hers, and her hair rests in a twist at the left of her neck. This is a look that is far more commonly worn in District 1, which is a comparison I'm certain Lyan is trying to emulate. Her dress is a glittery gold and rests by two strings on one shoulder, and is drastically short, falling just below the curve of her ass. Black triangles are purposefully placed in order to suggest her figure is more voluptuous than it actually is. She has obviously relished being decked out in all things Capitol. In comparison, I am remarkably plain.

I've been dressed in a simple and professionally wrinkled (as I was assured by one of Nika's assistants) white shirt, with sleeves reaching to my elbows, accompanied with a pair of light blue denim shorts which cut off at the knee and look as though they've been plucked off an abandoned island. The shirt is semi-transparent, seeing as it was one of the concessions I allowed Nika; but in return, I was able to keep my weathered sandals. My curls have been miraculously tamed into waves that are supposed to accentuate my 'roguishly good looks' as another of Nika's assistants put it. No makeup exists on any part of me, just as I requested. The rope from Nim's mirror never leaves my hand as I twist and undo it into a variety of knots. My reaction to her is roll my eyes at her jeering face and at my reaction, she haughtily walks off, irritated with me for whatever reason exists in her mind. I move in the opposite direction, only wishing to create as much distance between her and I on this train as humanly possible.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I awake in darkness to hear a quick knock on the door, accompanied by the voice of Tryvius.

"Mr. Odair, I just wanted to let you know that dinner is currently being served with Miss Demetria and your mentors." His voice sounds like a sea urchin dipped in honey. Deceptively sweet, but punctuated with a message. I am to appear as soon as possible if I wish to have any chance of winning this. Unspoken words are clearer to me than what's said most of the time. I groan and reply.

"Thank you, Tryvius. I'll be over shortly. And it's Finnick." His footsteps lead away from my door, and I flick on the light that rests next to my bed. The room lights up from a golden light emanating from a turquoise lamp. This, along with it's twin on the nightstand on the other side of the bed is the only piece of color that exists in the room. Though the room is of a decent size, floor to ceiling is cloaked in black, as well as the bed sheets. I wasn't entirely upset with this turn of events, seeing as it seemed I was just crawling into the inky darkness of the night sky. Plus, given my current mood, I was hardly able to disagree with the color choice.

Pushing myself off the bed without a glance to the hematite-framed mirror, I propel myself to the door. If the disarray of my hair is a matter of serious consequence to my mentors, then I have more problems than just forgetting to comb it. The dining area is a straight shot from my room, only requiring going through a double set of doors. I open the final door and see Kylie seated at the table across two people. Presumably, they are our mentors, two randomly chosen Victors of the past who can't escape the Games even after the initial horrors. The one directly across Kylie is Ian Trito, a sailor who won the Games about seven years back. His muscles are burly and strain under his light blue shirt, which contrasts starkly to his sun-tanned skin. He's roughly shoved the sleeves up to his elbows and his black messy hair hangs haphazardly around his face and just past the nape of his neck. Through his scraggly bangs, a startlingly warm pair of brown eyes scrutinize me in what I sincerely hope is not pity. Next to him is an older woman, who I am much more familiar with.

Margaret Darby was one of the first to win the Games for our district, seeing as she was one of the first to participate. Though I've nodded in greeting to her in passing, she's hardly an acquaintance. And now my survival rests in her hands. Hands which are wrinkled and creased from age and browned from the sun. Her blonde hair has starting to become streaked with white and silver, giving her a celestial look that is complimented by her pale blue eyes. It doesn't help that she usually wears lighter colors which only adds to this effect. True to form, she is wearing a light and gauzy lilac wrap around her like a cocoon over a creamy lace dress underneath. Her expression is dreamy, as though she is in another world, but her eyes are crystal clear and focused straight on me, her mouth set in an unwavering line that elicits neither a positive or negative response in me. It's a little unsettling to see someone who appears to be out of touch be so startlingly aware. She's a bit intense, which is why I'm sure Kylie avoided sitting across from her. Margaret (or Mags, as she's lovingly called around District Four) has decades of poise, wisdom, and acting to maneuver herself in any situation. Kylie has confidence and seduction, which will fade if she doesn't learn other things to pair with it. I take the seat across from Mags and next to Kylie gingerly, meeting Mags' eyes as I do so. I do not want to give off the air that they are beneath me as Kylie probably tried to put into her entrance. I am grateful for whatever they can teach me. Despite my disgust of the Games, Mags was probably just as unwilling as I was to take part back after the end of the Dark Days. She was of a different era and a new world, the first of many to succeed in twisted and animalistic chaos.

Which is why I'm glad that Kylie lacked the bravery to sit across from Mags, who appears to be an older woman slightly detached from the world. Kylie will learn some fighting techniques and weapons while she's with Ian, and how to persuade the crowd to love her, which I am sure she thinks is all she needs. But Mags offers so much more. She can teach me how to survive.

As I sit, Mags raises an eyebrow at my humble entrance. I'm sure that she may have expected something different for me, considering the general attitude of those from our district. I lean back in my chair, preparing myself for whatever advice Ian and Mags have to give to Kylie and I. Mags straightens up in her chair, looks Kylie straight in the eyes, and then fixes her gaze on me. She clasps her hands together and sets them on the table before speaking.

"We have two ways we can do this. We can present you as a pair, a unified team that will give the crowd something to fight for. However, seeing as your appearances are a bit..." she searches for the correct word, presumably to avoid offending either of us, "clashing, it may be easier if we split you both up to be mentored separately. A turbulent duo can make you an enormous target in the Gamemakers' eyes, seeing as it can draw attention away from the slaughter. And believe me, distractions are not tolerated if they don't cater to the Gamemakers' wishes." She doesn't even flinch as she nonchalantly mentions the killing in the Games. Obviously, this is something she has grown quite accustomed to. Kylie's response is instantaneous.

"What gives us a better shot?" Though she's overconfident, she's not stupid enough to do anything that will inhibit her chances at survival. Ian looks at her, and tilts his head before choosing his next sentence.

"Separate mentors." He turns to Mags. "Can I take this one? She's got spunk, and I can work with that. The boy seems like he's more your speed." I would take this as an insult if it weren't for the small smile that graces Mags' face.

"Certainly, Ian. I was going to ask for him anyways. And teach her something about getting her own food, will you? Something tells me she's not very familiar with having to find things for herself." He nods, and returns his attention to Kylie.

"Okay, Demetria," Ian says, looking picking up his dish. "Load up a plate, and we'll head off to the waiting room of your compartment to strategize." She looks slightly shocked by this, most likely appalled that she's being told to move. I successfully keep a smirk of amusement off of my face as she fills her dish with eggs, seaweed rolls, a clementine, yogurt, and some sausage. No doubt that she's attempting to raise her already-heightened nutrition levels before the start of the Games. Ian just chooses a hearty waffle, bacon, and a fresh cinnamon bun that reeks of sugar and butter before getting up. Personally, I like his taste. They each grab a beverage on their way out. Fresh hot chocolate piled with whipped cream for Ian, while Kylie sticks to milk. They disappear through a set of doors, and leave Mags and myself in the quiet room. I don't dare touch any of the food until I've been given her permission. A grin perks up the right side of her mouth before she manages to get a single word out.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Mr. Odair. Why don't we get some food in us and talk about where you're from before we delve into the heavy stuff, shall we?" A mirror image of her grin takes over my face.

"I like your style, Miss Mags," I say as I begin to choose what I suspect will be a largely unhealthy breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

**Also, Witchy Nike, is this a fast enough update for you? :P I know you want more, but last chapter was the longest written so far!**

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I study what Mags chooses to fill her dish with and am somewhat surprised by what I see. She chooses a variety of fruits such as clementines, strawberries, as well as a peach with some french toast, walnuts and syrup. My eyebrow raises of its own accord and I can't refrain myself from asking,

"Is having an addiction to sugar part of the transformation from tribute to Victor?" I question her, edging in a smile alongside it to reassure her that I'm joking. "Because if Kylie ends up winning, she's not going to be happy about that end of the deal." Mags rolls her eyes and shakes her head in my direction.

"Now, now, Mr. Odair. It isn't nice to speak of a fellow tribute in that manner, and from your district, no less! Even if she could use a little less bitterness in her personality..." Her voice trails off as she says this last part, and I can't contain the increase in my smile. "You see, Mr. Odair," she begins, waving a butter knife at me as she readies herself to cut into her french toast, "Once you have survived the Games and gone through immeasurable hunger, fear, and despair, you may tend to spoil yourself in any way possible. And seeing as I've always had a sweet tooth, I find it to be a far better way to spend my money on the occasional sugary treat than on some far more harmful addictions that other Victors have to resort to." She returns her attention to her meal, and I wordlessly take some seaweed rolls of my own, accompanied with a slice of what looks to be sort of an egg pie (protein, fat, and carbs will be good to have before the Games), and some strawberry yogurt with oats and raisins.

I've heard of the morphling addicts that live in the other districts. The ones that are most well-known usually come from 5, 7, 8, and 9. Careers wouldn't attempt at anything that could possibly tarnish their glory, and some of the poorer districts such as 10, 11, and 12 have a harder time coming by morphling. Not many can afford to buy it there, so supply trains rarely bring it to those areas. As a result, they usually resort to illegal liquors which are made in the black markets. In District 3, their electronics are rumored to have an entirely overwhelming effect which allows some Victors to escape into another reality by simply putting a visor on and living in a world of their choice. Once people win the Games, they sometimes have to find a distraction from their own mind. And some distractions are far more dangerous than others. The point that Mags makes is valid. If sugar is really one of the worst of her vices, then she should consider herself lucky. I say as much to her in response.

"There are far worse ways to spend the winnings," I agree succinctly. "And it's Finnick." Her eyes twinkle at that, and she spears the first part of her breakfast with her fork.

"Very well, Finnick. Now tell me, what's your family like? I want to hear all about them."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After breakfast, I feel as though I have been filled out to maximum capacity. My stomach is almost bursting from the plethora of delicious flavors that seem to have been enhanced in some alien way. Each aspect tasted so much more than the food that exists at home. The strawberry yogurt seemed as though it had just been created with strawberries plucked straight off the vine swirled and infused into yogurt that was so thick and creamy it almost tasted like ice cream. The egg pie (which Mags kindly informed me was called a quiche) was filled with creamy and light eggs, sharp and tangy cheeses, and mouth-wateringly good bacon nestled in a comforting bottom layer of puffy and flaky pie crust. I wish I could send this back to my family; especially to Dani and Sira, who would be fascinated by the quiche in particular and would have eaten it as soon as they had gotten it.

Mags' questioning over breakfast was far from intrusive as well. She questioned me on how I grew up, what Dani, Sira, and Nim love to do, each of my family's talents within the business, and what interests me. It was the first time in this entire competition that I felt as though someone cared about who I was, underneath the mask. With Mags, attempting to hide anything was futile. Whenever I tried, she would narrow her eyes and tell me,

"I have a grandson a few years younger than you, Finnick, and a son before him besides. If you think that I'm going to fall for that King-of-the-World, charming bullshit, you have another thing coming. There's nothing to be gained by trying to pull one over on me, boy. So cut the act." That's another thing about Mags. Subtle wasn't really her style with me. I could tell that Mags realized how to react and adapt around a number of different people in order to entice the reaction or information out that she desired. Something that we most definitely had in common. You become very good at faking and showing people what they want to see when you bullshit. And when you put two bull-shitters together, I guess the truth sometimes ends up just coming out. Hiding isn't exactly an option in that case.

And for the entire meal, we didn't make a single reference or say a single word about the Games. It was as if we lived in a completely separate universe from a time long ago. Though it was only for one hour, it was one of the most important and relaxing ones of my life. I was given a chance to be myself. To prepare for what was coming and to realize what had to be done in order to ready myself as much as I could. As it came to an end, I prepared myself for advice about the Games. However, when it did end, Mags merely folded her napkin and set it down next to her plate. I looked at her in puzzlement.

"Where are you going? Don't we have to talk strategy?" My face clouded in confusion. We were only about two days away from reaching the Capitol. That wasn't exactly a ton of time. She tilted her head and drew her wrap closer around her.

"Oh Finnick," she started off with a sigh. "Don't you think you've had enough craziness in the past twenty-four hours? I'm going to talk to Nika and see what her ideas are for presenting you to the audience. Perhaps we can tweak a few things and collaborate together. Meanwhile, I want you to relax and clear your mind. It may be one of the last chances for you to do so." She made her way to the door before I protested.

"But Mags-" She shook a finger in my direction.

"No buts! If you're so determined to 'strategize', then there are a few programs and activities you can do on the screens in your room on your own time. But let me tell you this, you have no idea what the Gamemakers will end up throwing you. So sometimes, you can't always prepare, no matter how hard you try. Our best bet is to make sure you make an impression and that they like you. Because if they like you, they can be your salvation." With that, she exited from the room and left me to my thoughts.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Eventually, I made my way back to my room. I did manage to find some of the programs that Mags had mentioned, and despite her warning, decided to go through some of them. Studying weaponry types seemed pointless, seeing as you actually have to practice with them in order to get a feel for them. Knot tying wasn't even an option, since I'd learned them all and even created a few since I worked on my family's boat. However, identifying plants as poisonous or edible turned out to be useful, as well as herbal and natural remedies to possible injuries or attacks in the Games. Though I doubted they'd use 'muttations' in these Games (seeing as they'd just released experiments in the past month and they were slightly unstable), it would still be useful to have an idea of what could be unleashed.

Some sounded terrible; one gave hallucinations after tragically painful stings that could be fatal, another managed to rip you to shreds with the intent to attack no matter the cost, and another could tip you off to enemies by mimicking your sounds and amplifying them. And the most terrifying thing was that this was just the first generation. Who knows how creative the Gamemakers in the Capitol would get in the upcoming years, once they'd perfected the formulas and could have them done in a moment's notice? I shivered at the thought. They were definitely going to become more lethal as the Games progressed. I felt sorry for any poor saps that ended up in the Games a few years from now. Children that I would possibly be mentoring, if I was successful. Though the Victor pool is somewhat large in District Four, compared to other districts, the Capitol can tend to get stuck on favorites and rotate them rarely.

Mags has been beloved for years and is a classic example of the tenacity and strength of District Four, even in age. Ian is relatively new and is being tested out to see his effect on the audience. Personally, I think that Kylie will make or break his career. If she wins, then he will be known as creating a success out of her. If she loses, no one will allow him to forget his failure.

At around one, I make my way to the dining room, which has been cleared of people, but has obviously been visited. Ian and Kylie must have taken a break in order to grab food and continue working, though Mags must be dead-set on me continuing my relaxing. Lunch is a simple affair (or as simple as the Capitol can get). It consists of a roasted chicken with a drizzled lemon sauce gravy that smells heavenly, green beans in a vinegar-ed sauce, mashed potatoes that look rich and creamy that smell of garlic and dill, alongside freshly made cornbread. My mouth salivates from the moment I step into the room, and I immediately take as much as I can humanly fit onto a plate and sit down to enjoy my meal. I pour myself a glass of ice water with lemon and relish in the silence. After all, this may be one of my last opportunities to have a luxurious lunch without worry of poisoning, malnutrition, or attack. I might as well take advantage of this time. Because once Mags decides that our planning will commence, I have to be completely and wholly focused on what our plan is in order for me to win over the Capitol.


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

**And Witchy Nike, I hope that you enjoy that this is the longest chapter so far. By about 500 words...**

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The rest of my night ends up being uneventful. With no signs of Mags, I decide to return to my room and lift the shade that removes me from the sight of the countryside flying by. In the twilight light, the world looks as though it's been doused in magic, with houses and buildings lit up and blurring together into a visual symphony of yellows, whites, along with blues and reds mixed in. I sit, mesmerized by the changing colors and sheer speed at which we are traveling. The night gradually fades into deeper and deeper shades of purples and blacks until it is pitch dark, and my eyes tire from having watched thousands of the lights.

I'm not certain of the time, but am sure that sleep would be a relief from the stresses of the past few days that have made me weary. In just forty-eight hours, I have been Reaped, made to say goodbye to my family, undergone 'beautification' programs, and studied ways to survive in an unknown environment for a fight to the death. To say that it's been eventful time would be a vast understatement. I change into a pair of smooth, soft, and loose black pajamas and crawl into my bed. It is only a matter of moments before I succumb to the sleep that my body so deeply craves. Tomorrow will be filled with strategy, planning, and coaching from Mags, and presumably Nika as well. And if I do the dishonor of having bags under my eyes, I fear that I will not be forgiven by her. And who knows how well she will listen to my requests after that? It's better to not get on her bad side.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

My sleep is deep and dreamless, which is why I eventually wake thanks to the prodding in my right side. I scrunch up my face and scramble to pull my covers farther up on myself to hopefully dissuade whoever is intent on disturbing my slumber. To my surprise, they are swiftly taken away from me, leaving me with a cool gust of air that didn't exist in such close proximity to my skin just a few seconds before. I wrench an eye open, and coldly glare in the direction of the disturbance. Unperturbed, Nika stands there, her arms crossed, and the tail end of the blanket resting in her hand. Her expression is mostly neutral, with hints of annoyance crinkling her aqua face, but her golden eyes skim over me, unimpressed.

"I'm sure this is hardly the bedside manner you're accustomed to, Mr. Odair, but I don't have time to waste. I let you rest for an extra half hour as is, thanks to the request of Mags, and we have a lot of planning to do for your image. I suggest that you dress yourself then meet us in the adjoining room. Your clothes will be hanging from the back of the door. Do hurry, if you please." A smile is fighting to present itself on her face, but she manages to keep it in check, and she throws the blanket back towards me and makes her way to the door.

"It's Finnick!" I shout after her, and I hear a chuckle escape her mouth before the door clicks shut. Why does everyone in this stupid place insist on being so damned polite? It's not as if there's a enormous chance that I'll even make it through this competition. I'm only one out of twenty-four, and being from a Career district doesn't guarantee your survival. After all, this is an event created on the grounds of bloodshed and sacrifice. A bit of formality is expected, but not to this extent. After all, it's not like we politely invite the fish to make their way into our nets or spears for their death in District Four. I shake my head and jump out of bed a bit too quickly and stumble as a result. Catching myself, I glance at the outfit that's been hung up on the door and grab it as I quickly hop into the shower to freshen up. The warm water soothes my muscles which must have tensed at some point during the night. When I exit, I quickly pull on the clothes, not wanting to be any more late than I already am. My pants are a smooth, black material that is warm and they are shockingly long enough for my legs. I nod in approval, and throw on my shirt, which is a deep seaweed green that exposes part of my chest and is elbow-length. I shove my feet into the same shoes I brought from District Four and enter the small drawing room that exists outside of my room.

Mags is quietly talking to Nika, and both of them look delighted with the conversation. They are settled on a couch that is perpendicular to a loveseat. In-between the two is a table that has a tea service, with fresh hot water and cups, a variety of teas, honey, sugar, and a variety of syrups. Small biscuits and breakfast items rest on the side of it, which catches my eye. Nika is throwing her head back in slight laughter, her lavender hair styled in huge ringlets today that bounce back and forth whenever the smallest giggle escapes from her mouth. Mags is nursing a large cup of what looks to be tea close to her chest as she happily engages in conversation with Nika. The two are obviously fond of each other, Capitol and District looks and behaviors aside. Even though they are both from such different backgrounds, they seem as though they easily find common ground on which to discuss certain things. And seeing as Mags and I get on fairly well, this gives me hope for a possible working relationship with Nika.

"Good morning, ladies," I smoothly say, giving a wink in their direction. Mags rolls her eyes, while Nika looks increasingly unimpressed.

"Save it for the Capitol, Mr. Odair. While your charm and looks will undoubtedly be of use there, we don't need nor do we desire it. Just the facts, if you please." I look quizzically at Mags before replying to Nika.

"What do you mean it'll be of use? Most tributes are some semblance of charming. And as I told you before, Nika, it's Finnick." The smile returns to her face, and her face softens just the smallest bit.

"Well, Mr. O- I mean, Finnick," She begins sheepishly, "Most tributes have to be enticed to appear as though they're somewhat comfortable and sure of themselves. Otherwise, their chances of getting sponsors is little to nonexistent. However, natural confidence and charm is a peculiar but handy thing to have in a tribute. It's just another factor in the possibility of your survival." I tilt my head curiously at her. Huh. I had never really considered it as something that could possibly help me make it through this horror. I glance back at Mags for confirmation. She nods, understanding the expression that's plastered itself to my face.

"It's true, Finnick," Mags says with warmth. "Kylie may look fierce, and while that's all well and good, if she can't captivate and charm the audience, they'll want nothing to do with her. You on the other hand, can entice and intrigue a crowd. And if they care enough, they'll do everything in their power to ensure that you make it through. They'll want every piece of you, down to each and every last secret aspect that you hold dear." I let out a huge sigh. Just another part of me that the Capitol wants to access. As if my life wasn't enough, now they want my soul as well. Which is fine, I amend, as long as they have no reach into my heart. Into my family, and all those I hold dear. I can deal with it all, as long as I have that. I flop down onto the couch and reach forward towards the tea and pour myself a cup of black vanilla caramel tea with a large addition of honey and sugar. As Mags said, if sweetness is the worst vice, then we're pretty well off.

"So what's the plan, then?" I ask, stirring my sugary concoction. Mags takes a sip from her own cup before answering me.

"We've decided to put you all out there. You're refreshing. And even if they aren't aware that they know everything about you, we're going to make them think they do." My eyebrows raise in mild surprise.

"And how do you intend to do that?" I ask, slowly.

"Your charm," Nika answers smugly. "You can persuade anyone to think that what comes out of your mouth is the complete and utter truth."

"From this point on, you will be acting for every second that you spend in the public eye," Mags somberly states. "You will have to use everything in your power to ensure your safety. Your looks, personality, and intelligence will be your greatest allies. With them, you can win this entire thing." I must look skeptical, because Nika turns to me.

"It's exactly as she said, Finnick. Learn to guard your reactions and expressions, though. Those can betray you in a split second. You must be constantly aware." I school my face into a more neutral look. She claps in approval. "Excellent! Now, let's go over these sketches that I've drawn up for your Capitol debut in the chariots. This will be your first true impression. Though everyone watches the Reapings, twenty-four tributes can tend to blur together. When they ride through in their chariots, that's when attention is drawn and kept. You need more than a first impression. What you need is to make an impact. That's what I'm for." She pulls out a sketchpad that has a male figure which I assume is based on my physique. I guess that those measurements really did come in handy for her.

As we flip through the sketches together, I see Mags refill her cup and mimic my own drink while doing so. I refrain from smiling and focus on what Nika has created. If I have ever doubted her talent, I instantly regret it. Her sketches are vividly detailed, and she has taken all aspects of District Four in them, while sticking to the standard colors for our district. My gaze falls upon one particular sketch that involves my weapon of choice, the trident. I point to it.

"Nika, this is incredible." She beams with pride. "This is it. This is what will knock them dead. Mags, do you agree?" I pass the sketch over to her, and she scrutinizes it slowly. Then, her face lights up.

"Yes," she says with a smile. "They won't know what hit them." She passes the sketchpad back to Nika, who closes it firmly, and then gets up.

"If you'll excuse me," Nika starts, "I have to go get this in order. Meanwhile, Mags will help you focus on the most useful things to be coached on for the Games." She exits through the door, and I hop over to the now available spot next to Mags. I smile widely at her and open my arms.

"Okay, master," I begin, sarcastically. "Let's start. Teach me all that you know." She shakes her head at my antics, but faces me nonetheless.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next three hours pass quickly. Though we're covering a large amount of subjects within the time frame, Mags is easily animated, and exceedingly passionate about every word that leaves her mouth. I have a mentor that genuinely wants me to succeed. It's no secret that in some of the poorer districts, some mentors spend their tributes' training time by having them write out their last wishes and make plans to end their own lives if the arena proves too much for them. They've lost the heart to invest true effort into their tributes for fear that they'll pass away and will have yet another reason to be added to their list of torturous reminders in their minds of the Games which they will have to distract themselves from in some way. Most Career mentors focus on the glory it will bring their district if their tribute succeeds and wins the Games, but that isn't Mags' motivation. She is truly sincere in her want for me to prevail, and seeing as I respect her wholeheartedly, I try to commit as much as she says to my memory as quickly as possible.

Since we've already decided that my angle is to be straightforward and charming (even though I'm actually fabricating most of who I am for this artificial audience's pleasure), we've just been hammering out the details of my presentation. I've relented to slight make-up, only to enhance features, but not to take over who I am. Part of what will make me different is my aversion to false enhancements. Natural looks are practically unheard of in the Capitol, but it may be my saving grace, since it will ensure that I will stand out. I will be witty, funny, heartfelt, and able to make even the most stubborn of Capitol women weak in the knees, Mags assures me. I just have to play my role. I will not hide my talent with a trident, but I will conceal my rope-tying ability. If asked about it before or after the Games, I am to shrug and merely say that it's a talent that's practically second nature to me, considering my family's trade. To me, it is of little importance. I don't care what I have to say or who I have to pretend to be to get through this and receive sponsors. I just want to make it out alive. Teaming up with the Careers is my best choice to start with, and from then on out, to play it by ear. And one thing that Mags makes absolutely clear is that I need to make sure I take care of myself. If someone decides to betray me or one that I am close to, I must defend them. Not for the Capitol. But for myself, because otherwise, she says that I_ "will never be able to forget, nor to forgive for whatever I could have done."_ And with the twinge of guilt that rings in her tone as she speaks this, I solemnly swear to stand by this rule, if all else fails. Because I can hear the truth in her voice, and know that I would be struck by it just as hard, if not more than she has been.


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks**

**to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Arriving in the Capitol is a surreal experience. Apparently it's District Four tradition for the tributes to exit simultaneously at separate ends of the trains in order to encourage the already bloodthirsty crowd. As Careers, it is our duty to entertain and encourage their lack of humanity. As Mags reminds me, we are their heroes. Nika doesn't enhance my looks greatly, but does add a slight line of golden and silver eyeliner which she assures me, will add an air of intrigue to my captivating looks. I haven't seen Kylie since the last dinner, so I have no idea how she may have changed or adapted her look. We may work in a group of Careers, but it is hardly likely that we will spend any extra time together before we are put into the arena, something I can't find it in myself to complain about.

Standing in front of the train door, I brace myself, taking in a deep breath. This is the first step of a nightmare, because this crazy ride starts here, surrounded by the citizens of the Capitol. I focus my eyes on the doors, and plant a laid-back smile upon my face. It's imperative that I look at ease. If confidence is able to convince the audience that I will prevail, sponsors will practically fall into my lap, to increase my chances of success. There was not a trace of guilt as I decided upon this plan, seeing as I know my life does not really matter to these lemmings, who just are excited to have another thing to obsess about. Who I am is of no consequence. Just who I am wanted to be. The doors whoosh open, and I see a small path that winds through a maze of heavily-costumed Capitolites. I see that glitter and shimmer seem to be the Capitol trend of the day, since I can practically see my reflection in some of the outfits of those in attendance. They've stuck with the colors of my District, and as a result, look like an actual ocean of people with deep greens and rich shades of blue and aqua streaking throughout their appearances. My name is being chanted as I take my first step out, and do a calculated wink at a particularly lovesick-looking group of girls, who squeal in delight at my attentions. The crowds roar, and I widen the grin on my face. These fools are so easy to deceive. Just a second of my time; a fabricated bit of care, means the absolute world to them, though it is nothing truly tangible. I stroll throughout down the path, to where I see Nika waiting for me. With each step, I make sure to lean into the crowd and either shout out a remark, toss a wink or wicked smile, or whisper a false compliment into the ear of a teenage girl that looks gullible. I can see Nika refraining to smile at my antics, but also observe a small bit of what looks to be disappointment in her eyes. However, I keep the mask up until I make it into the Capitol apartments for the Tributes, which connects to the training center as well as City Circle, where I will ride tonight in my finery that represents District Four. As the large oak doors shut on Nika and I, a sigh of relief leaves my mouth. Nika looks at me sympathetically,

"You poor thing," she starts, "At least you got through the first parts without any mishaps." I look at her in disbelief.

"People really manage to mess up the walk from the train to the apartments?" I ask. "How is that even possible?" She shakes her head, a smile making its way back onto her face.

"You'd be surprised. People can just freak out at the proximity of the Games and the Capitol can be quite overwhelming for those that aren't used to it." She purses her lips while examining my face. "Kylie was having quite the freak-out this morning, in fact. It's shocking that you have taken this so calmly, considering your...distaste for the whole ordeal." I cross my arms, and lean against the wall before responding.

"It's a hell of a lot easier if you don't actually care," I respond nonchalantly. "Because though I'd prefer to live, I don't give a damn about my district winning yet another year. We're not Twelve or Eleven. We don't need it to survive." A curious look crosses Nika's face and she seems to choose her words carefully before replying to my frank statement.

"Be that as it may," she begins casually, "That's not what you need to portray." With that, she leads me to an elevator, and instead of pressing '4' for my District's housing floor, she hits a button that is marked 'P'. I look at her curiously. "You have to be prepped for tonight," she says as an answer to my confusion. "You couldn't have possibly thought that you would just slip into your clothing and just 'wing it', did you?" I grin sheepishly.

"I can hope, can't I?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

If there has ever been a time where I have regretted the Capitol's indulgences in all things extravagant, it is at this exact moment. For the past three hours, I have had shimmering ocean blue and iridescent green scales painstakingly painted on my lower torso, hips, over the ridiculously tiny shorts that I was allowed, as well as both of my entire legs. As per my choice in Nika's designs, I have chosen to dress as a half-man, half-fish creation that mimics one of the Capitol's own 'muttations'.

The fish I am emulating is a barrabetta, which is a deadly beautiful fish that combines one of nature's most fatal creations, the barracuda, and a beautiful but harmless fish called the betta. The Capitol created these as a diversion to those from nearby districts who might try to roam our waters in search of fish to catch for illegal hunting and selling on the black markets. Somehow, the Capitol was able to implant some sort of technology from District Three that allows the fish to refrain from attacking anyone whose DNA has been recorded in the District Four database as a citizen. Since samples of all of us are taken from birth, it's a pretty foolproof procedure for those from our district. However, barrabettas have attacked several foreign boats, since even the tiniest bit of DNA can float to the water and attract them to the outsiders as blood in the water would for a shark. By trying to lure the outsiders into a false sense of security with its appearance, the barrabettas can get extremely close to those who trespass upon our waters. The significance of the comparison Nika wishes to be drawn between the fish and I is obvious. I must be the entire package. Beautiful, charming, disarming, and utterly lethal.

Golden jagged swirls have been intricately painted upon my arms, and intertwine with the golden-plated arm-bands that are set with sodalite and turquoise gems that flow upon the jewelry in a similar pattern. My hair has been put into loose curls that hang defiantly in my face, but are controlled enough to seem deliberate. Deep blue/almost black waves have been painted under my eyes, drawing attention to the fierce expression that I have been coached to have as I ride in my chariot through the City. And the crowning achievement in this costume is the trident that I have been given to ride with, held securely in hand as we arrive. It is a piece of beauty, made of what looks to be gold, but is far stronger. It, like my armbands, is also set with sodalite and turquoise, but in a far more militant pattern that suggests order and control. It is an excellent piece of craftsmanship but just like me, looks dangerous.

I am carefully ushered out of the room (so as not to smudge any of the painted scales) and meet Mags in a room where Kylie and Ian also are speaking. Kylie's back is to me as she sits, so I can't observe any of Lyan's latest changes to her appearance. My attention turns back to Mags and Nika, both of which are staring intensely at me. Nika's face is set in a grim line, and her lavender hair is escaping from the haphazard bun she had put it in while assisting in the painting of my scales. Her gold eyes burn into me, and she fixes a curl that was hanging incorrectly (in her opinion) into my face, and smoothes it into the mess of hair that exists on my head. She rests her hand on my cheek lightly, and then walks away. I turn quizzically to Mags, who offers no explanation.

"You had better prepare yourself for your chariot presentation, boy," she scolds me. "You look the part, but you must be fierce, seductive, and memorable. If you forget any of those, you lose the potential for a stunning first impression. You need to blow it out of the waters." I nod seriously.

"You can count on me, Mags." She smiles.

"I know I can, Finnick. Just do your best, and we'll go from there." She gestures towards the chariot. "Get in place, boy." I don't miss the tender note in her voice, and the appearance of the smallest of smirks. I stride towards the chariot. Kylie has already nested there, and I take in her appearance. Though I am the barrabetta, she has been dressed as a siren, a nautical tale told from the Dark Days of heart-breakingly beautiful women who would sing sailors of all lands to their death. Her hair hangs in tousled crimson curls, and she wears a top that merely covers her chest in strategically placed bits of woven gold netting with aqua and black sheer fabric. Medallions of gold and bronze hang on her bare torso, and her skirt is made of the same black and aqua sheer fabric, and though it technically covers down to her ankles, you can see the bare outline of her entire lower body. As it is, the skirt hangs dangerously low on her hip bones, and she like me, is barefoot. Golden and black make-up is applied to make her eyes appear larger than they naturally are, and make her look far more appealing and vulnerable. She is a beauty that reeks of sex, but still has innocence and helplessness instilled in her. I suspect she will be largely popular with the older male sponsors of the Capitol. She looks at me with a haughty appreciation, seeing as my muscles from working on the boat are proudly on display. This isn't a rare occurrence for the District Four tributes to show provocative amounts of skin, but we have done so in such an alluring way, that there is no doubt in my mind that we will be the talk of the Capitol tonight.

She tosses her hair and steps to the left side of the chariot. I step onto the right side and place my trident firmly in my right hand and anchor myself to the chariot with my left. A screen before us lists the chariots that are ready. As soon as the last one is checked off, I see District One's name blaze gold. And from our view in a tunnel, I see their cart emblazoned with an extravagant '1' go speeding by. For what seems like ages, finally District Two's name also burns gold, and we see their car go by as well. Three soon follows suit, and suddenly, I feel our chariot jerk forward and I tighten my grip on the edge of the cart. It's time to blaze.

The noise is deafening, and I notice Kylie's grip tightening into a death-hold of the chariot's reins. I turn back to Mags as we move forward and rest my hand over my heart and wink at her as soon as we reach the light. From her barely illuminated place backstage, I can see her shake her head, but I quickly turn back to the business at hand. People are screaming Kylie and I's names, and she tries to plaster on a smile but the cool confidence that she had backstage is greatly wavering. Thankfully for her, she also can play the damsel card with her deceptive and crafted innocence from her make-up. I work the crowd with smiles, winks, and my gracious acceptance of the flowers and trinkets that are thrown at our chariot. I thrust my trident into the air triumphantly as we lock into place and the crowd screams in jubilation. I set it down and begin to relax as the District Five tributes make their way out. I've done what's been asked of me, and there is no doubt in my mind that they will sure as hell remember who Finnick Odair is.


	8. Chapter 8

**I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.**

**Witchy Nike, I am so sorry the updates have been sluggish! I just started at college again and am taking a while to get back in the groove of things**

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After the other tributes have arrived in Circle City, I focus on the large podium that floats before all of us without even a glance at the competition. Doing so would mark me as one who was actually concerned by the chance of dying. True survivors don't have time to focus on anyone else but themselves. Soon, I see the familiar face of Coriolanus Snow, the President of all of Panem. He has made several visits to my district over the past few years, so it's not shocking for me in any way to see his face. I raise my chin and stare numbly in his direction before he begins to speak. An overly large and creamy white rose rests in his lapel, and I swear, I can smell the reek of its perfume from where my chariot sits.

"Welcome to the grand treasure that is my Capitol, tributes. I hope that you enjoy the welcome we have prepared in your honor," I resist from snorting. For some reason, it might come across as sarcastic. "for we are delighted to be able to host you, clothe and feed you, all while getting to know you and all of your strengths and secrets." I feel his eyes rest on me for a moment, and he does an approving nod at Kylie and I before moving his line of sight to other tributes in the parade. "It certainly appears that we have a...unique assortment of tributes gathered here this year. I bid you goodnight, and may the odds be ever in your favor." With that, the podium goes dark, and our chariots begin moving of their own accord back to our prep stations. The crowds scream in enthusiastic and slightly hysterical euphoria as we pass by them again, and I shoot a wink to one patch of the crowd. Their screams increase, and I am all too glad once we are under the comforting blanket of our prep station filled with the only familiar faces in this entire surreal experience. I take a step out of the chariot and look to Kylie, whose face hasn't changed since we first went out into the tribute parade. Her expression seems frozen, which isn't good. I gently place a hand on her arm, and speak to her.

"Kylie? You in there?" She blinks slowly, and turns to look up at me. Her expression has now gone from being vulnerable and innocent to slight terror. I look up towards Nika and Lyan, motioning with my other hand for them to come over. Kylie's grip on the chariot seems to be unbreakable, but Nika forcefully makes her release her grip and she and Lyan escort Kylie off in the direction of our apartments. I disembark from the chariot and leave my trident on the table I had seen Nika take it from originally. After gingerly placing it down, I make it my duty to find Mags. While searching for her, I find her sitting with Ian. Mags raises her head at my approach and scans my face for whatever emotion is currently residing there.

"Well? How did it go?" She asks calmly, somehow seeming to know that I'm not here about my own performance. I run a hand through my hair.

"For me, it went fine. Kylie on the other hand..." Mags' eyes widen and Ian's head snaps up at my words.

"What did she do?" he asks frantically. "Did she try singing? I told that stupid girl that that wouldn't go over well. Tributes are to be seen, not heard. The Capitol wants their pets to look pretty, not to have any real substance. Then it would actually mean something when they murdered each other." His words come rushing out, and I note that he seems as displeased with the Games as I do. However, he's clearly not thinking about his words, which is why Mags shoots him a warning glance. We all know good and well that Snow has spies everywhere. The tale about mockingjays is an example of one of his failures, but who knows what he could have created in the past few years?

"I think she's fine," I begin, trying to soothe this obviously distressed mentor. "or at least she seemed so to the audience. She's lucky that Lyan and you gave her two options to play for her angle. She went to a sheltered little sea princess by default, and I'm pretty sure I"m the only one that recognized how frightened she looked. But she froze. And Lyan and Nika are currently trying to calm her down to the best of my knowledge-" Before I can finish, Ian has shoved his chair back and is striding off in the direction of District Four's apartments. I turn back to Mags, who has crossed her arms and is currently pursing her lips.

"Well you definitely made an impression, if that noise was any indication. Now we've got to make them fall in love with you." She scrutinizes me, and shakes her head in exasperation.

"Let's not pretend they aren't already, Mags," I say in my most cocky voice and throw a wink and crooked grin in her direction. I can see her trying to refrain from laughing at my antics. A pang goes off in my chest. In only a matter of days, this mentor has become a second mother to me. Now I have yet another reason to try to win this twisted event.

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Kylie is absent from dinner, as are Lyan, Nika, and Ian. Mags and I's only company is that of the silent Avoxes, who respond with a hint of a smile when I genuinely thank them for their service. Rather than sit at opposite ends of the enormous table, Mags and I choose to sit side by side. The dinner is luxurious, as every meal has been in this mess of an adventure. Balsamic braised salmon sits by roasted potatoes and carrots that must have been cooked with copious amounts of rosemary and garlic, seeing as the aroma pleasantly permeates throughout the room. Steamed asparagus in a creamy lemon sauce along with standard District Four seaweed rolls sit nearby me. On Mags' left side is a rich soup that is a mixture of onions, herbs, and pasta in a thick and comforting seafood broth. I try not to indulge in remarkably large portions, seeing as it will only serve to weigh me down if I take in too much food. And as I remind myself, there may not always be food readily available in the Games. To my dismay though, there is no dessert on the table, before or after finishing my supper.

The conversation between Mags and I is focused mainly on the competition and my upcoming interview. Seeing as we've already decided on my angle to be mysterious and charming, all I have to focus on is not giving too much away about my past. There isn't anything particularly interesting, so vague statements will draw the audience into wanting to learn more about me and hopefully inspire some to become my sponsor. I excuse myself and begin walking to my room in the District Four apartment, a place I have yet to visit. Upon walking inside, I am surprised to note that the room looks exactly like the one in my compartment in the train, just on a slightly larger scale. I walk into the bathroom and take a shower to wash all the make-up of the day off of me. Removing my painted scales from my barrabetta costume takes far longer than I imagined it would take. I almost feel a pang of sympathy for the girls in my district who put paint much like this on their faces everyday to make themselves more beautiful (or in their opinion, anyways). Seeing the trail of greens, blues and golds streaming down my legs and swirling into the drain is probably the most interesting part of the whole make-up process for me. Finally, I have gotten rid of the last of my stylist's painstaking work and my legs have turned an agitated red as a result of my relentless scrubbing. I throw on a pair of loose pajama pants and practically fall into my bed. I hadn't expected to become so tired from simply getting made up, going to the City Circle, and planning with Mags, but apparently everything in the Capitol is more exhausting than I'd expected. It's probably a good thing that these Capitolites don't actually do any kind of strenuous work, I muse, seeing as their flair for 'style' is a tiring process to do and remove, day after day.

Before I begin to nod off, however, I hear a slight knock at my door. I groan into my pillow.

"Yes?" I practically whine. I hear the door open slowly and look up to see Nika letting herself into my room. She's redone her hair into a braid, and is the most relaxed in wardrobe as I've ever seen her. She is in a pair of matching white plush pants and a shirt that ties in the front. Her feet are encased in deep blue slippers, which is the only speck of color in her outfit. She steps forward and lightly sits on the edge of my bed.

"I wanted to thank you," Nika quietly begins. I look at her dubiously. If anyone should be thanking someone, it should be me thanking her for not making me look like a fool, as some past District Four stylists have done to their tributes. She catches my expression and begins to explain. "You didn't exploit Kylie's weakness. Some other district partners would have been far more heartless and cruel, trying to display any vulnerability of an opponent. But you played it cool, and focused the attention on yourself instead. It was very noble."

"I appreciate the...commendation, but I'm not certain I deserve it. After all, I was just trying to not interfere with Lyan and Ian's plan for her presentation and focus on my own thing." Nika's eyes crinkle a bit as she smiles at me.

"Well, Kylie is a bit too prideful to properly thank you for something that you could have easily exploited. And I have a brother a bit younger than you. And I think it would be an honor if he turned out even a fraction as kind and graceful as you were in that situation. I may have misjudged you initially," she admits. "But now I see what kind of a man you are, despite your trying to mask it. And I will do all in my power to help everyone else see those positive aspects of you. I just wanted to let you know how much I admired your heart." She bows her head slightly and walks toward the door, smiling just a bit more before she leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her.


End file.
